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An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
--Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress"


Marvell

Having just rolled over onto my back
before I reached
for a cigarette, my girlfriend Amy

demanded to know who Marvell was...
"Why did you blurt out her name?

Do all men think of other women
in the middle of sex?"

"Is she a new secretary?
Does she chew her nails
into red hearts, and wave the fumes
of her newly polished nails
at the men in your office?

Is that why you were giddy,
breaking out into laughter
at odd moments?

"Why did you let slip
that you needed two hundred years
to admire each of her tits?

You weren't thinking of my girls,
obviously," and she teared up,

fuming, "What is it with you and boobs?
Forget about any more sex, mister.

I've got work to do in the garden.
The sun, you know, doesn't

stand still..."

The prelude improves it Bob

Hi Bob,

"demanded to know who Marvell was...
'Why did you blurt out her name?"

a possible skit for SNL could be based on this

needless to say, I mean that as compliment



Michael (MV)

Lol...thanks, Michael